looked so much more like Lucifer now that I shuddered. “It’s time, pet.”
It was time … to stop Lucien.
The crisp scent of the ice flipped the switch on all my senses. My hate for the man in front of me burned so hot I could finally feel the tips of my fingers again.
All the emotion I’d been void of while in Lucien’s cell hammered into me. I clenched and unclenched my fists to fight off the tides. Every muscle around my stomach tightened. Mountains of tension gathered, funneling through me all at once.
It was enough to drive me out of my head all over again. If I let it.
Focusing on my anger, I centered myself and let everything else—the pain, the sorrow, the hopelessness—disappear.
Fire raged inside me, hot and cold at once. Oceans of pressure built up in my head until the only place for it to go was out. A bright light burned my retinas through closed lids. It exploded outward along with every bit of energy I had to give. I didn’t even feel myself hit the floor.
***
Later, the scent of ashes and cinder wafted to my nose.
My eyelids, gummy and dry, stuck together the first time I tried to open them. On my second attempt, I scrubbed the back of my hand along them and sat up. Water colder than should be legal created an indent around my body, soaking my clothes through. Chills racked me. My head swam. A copper tang coated my tongue like a layer of heavy leaden paint. I repressed the urge to spit. Around me the Fallen lay on the ground, unmoving. Unconscious.
Not more than five feet behind me, the front of what I thought was Shirtless’s robe was covered in black dirt. At least I guessed it was Shirtless. His belt thing was still attached around his waist with the sword in it, but the black dirt covering the front of him from face to feet was like no dirt I’d seen before. As a gardener, I knew dirt.
I glanced around the room again, everyone still unconscious.
I did it. I actually did it.
Whatever had affected Shirtless had also somehow damaged Fornicator’s left arm, covering it in the same dirt. Blood leaked around his head, making a crimson halo on the ice.
Lucien, who had collapsed where he stood, was unaffected by this black dirt the way the Fallen were, and he had been the closest to me.
Fatigue and shock started clearing from my brain, allowing me to scramble to my feet. My knee gave out beneath me on my first try, bumping my hip hard into the cold, slippery pool of ice water. My body heat must have melted some of the ice, though with my teeth chattering and the chills burrowing down to my bones, I wouldn’t have thought I had any heat left. The second time, I stood on shaky legs and angled out of the indent. Then I held still, my breathing so snail-like a tortoise would be jealous. Still no sounds of movement, only the distant drumming.
The door at the end of the hall caught my eye.
Two slippery steps later, I skidded down the icy slope Shirtless’ body warmth had created around him. I reached in his belt and slowly slid his sword out. The entire front half of his body collapsed in on itself, sending the black dirt into a puff of smoke. The sword clattered to the floor when I realized the black stuff wasn’t dirt, but ash. The rich, heady scent of fireplace suddenly made sense. My power must have somehow burned only his front half.
The ashes wafted toward me. I blinked them away, knelt to pick up the sword, and finally looked to Lucien. Unconscious. Unguarded. And me with a sword. Beyond the echoing clank of the sword on ice, another, softer sound drifted. It could almost be footsteps. The way the ice echoed, I couldn’t tell which direction the noise came from, but I had to assume they were headed my way.
I gripped the heavy blade tight in my hands, lifted it over my head, and slammed it down over Lucien’s throat. His skin parted, and coral-colored smoke wafted out from the small gash. Lucien himself didn’t move. I heaved the blade up and back. Lucien’s
It was time … to stop Lucien.
The crisp scent of the ice flipped the switch on all my senses. My hate for the man in front of me burned so hot I could finally feel the tips of my fingers again.
All the emotion I’d been void of while in Lucien’s cell hammered into me. I clenched and unclenched my fists to fight off the tides. Every muscle around my stomach tightened. Mountains of tension gathered, funneling through me all at once.
It was enough to drive me out of my head all over again. If I let it.
Focusing on my anger, I centered myself and let everything else—the pain, the sorrow, the hopelessness—disappear.
Fire raged inside me, hot and cold at once. Oceans of pressure built up in my head until the only place for it to go was out. A bright light burned my retinas through closed lids. It exploded outward along with every bit of energy I had to give. I didn’t even feel myself hit the floor.
***
Later, the scent of ashes and cinder wafted to my nose.
My eyelids, gummy and dry, stuck together the first time I tried to open them. On my second attempt, I scrubbed the back of my hand along them and sat up. Water colder than should be legal created an indent around my body, soaking my clothes through. Chills racked me. My head swam. A copper tang coated my tongue like a layer of heavy leaden paint. I repressed the urge to spit. Around me the Fallen lay on the ground, unmoving. Unconscious.
Not more than five feet behind me, the front of what I thought was Shirtless’s robe was covered in black dirt. At least I guessed it was Shirtless. His belt thing was still attached around his waist with the sword in it, but the black dirt covering the front of him from face to feet was like no dirt I’d seen before. As a gardener, I knew dirt.
I glanced around the room again, everyone still unconscious.
I did it. I actually did it.
Whatever had affected Shirtless had also somehow damaged Fornicator’s left arm, covering it in the same dirt. Blood leaked around his head, making a crimson halo on the ice.
Lucien, who had collapsed where he stood, was unaffected by this black dirt the way the Fallen were, and he had been the closest to me.
Fatigue and shock started clearing from my brain, allowing me to scramble to my feet. My knee gave out beneath me on my first try, bumping my hip hard into the cold, slippery pool of ice water. My body heat must have melted some of the ice, though with my teeth chattering and the chills burrowing down to my bones, I wouldn’t have thought I had any heat left. The second time, I stood on shaky legs and angled out of the indent. Then I held still, my breathing so snail-like a tortoise would be jealous. Still no sounds of movement, only the distant drumming.
The door at the end of the hall caught my eye.
Two slippery steps later, I skidded down the icy slope Shirtless’ body warmth had created around him. I reached in his belt and slowly slid his sword out. The entire front half of his body collapsed in on itself, sending the black dirt into a puff of smoke. The sword clattered to the floor when I realized the black stuff wasn’t dirt, but ash. The rich, heady scent of fireplace suddenly made sense. My power must have somehow burned only his front half.
The ashes wafted toward me. I blinked them away, knelt to pick up the sword, and finally looked to Lucien. Unconscious. Unguarded. And me with a sword. Beyond the echoing clank of the sword on ice, another, softer sound drifted. It could almost be footsteps. The way the ice echoed, I couldn’t tell which direction the noise came from, but I had to assume they were headed my way.
I gripped the heavy blade tight in my hands, lifted it over my head, and slammed it down over Lucien’s throat. His skin parted, and coral-colored smoke wafted out from the small gash. Lucien himself didn’t move. I heaved the blade up and back. Lucien’s
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